Sherlock Returns
by Cumberbabe
Summary: It was worth a wound - it was worth many wounds - to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first fan fic ever. Please review and let me know what you think. There is at least one more part coming.

Thanks for reading!

The bright lights flashed by overhead, blinding John as he faded in and out of consciousness. The sound of running feet and shouting voices surrounded him. The pain in his chest started to numb as his whole body got colder and colder. 'Blood loss,' he thought, unable to turn off his doctor brain. He wanted to tell them, tell them that he needed blood and that they'd have to call the surgeon to remove the bullet he was sure had punctured a lung, but he no longer had the strength to do more than groan.  
"Gun shot victim, ready the emergency surgery," was the last thing he heard as he finally succumbed to the darkness.

Beep, beep. Beep, beep. Beep, beep.  
The steady beat of the heart monitor was the first sound he registered on waking, but he knew it was another sound that woke him, a voice that had called him from the depths of unconsciousness. A voice that he never thought he'd hear again.  
"John."  
That rich baritone sounded like heaven to his ears and that's when he knew. He opened his eyes and flinched back from the bright lights.  
"Sher..." he could barely hear himself. His voice weak and his dry lips cracking. He paused to try and swallow. When he opened his eyes again he found a glass of water hovering before his face. He drank gratefully from the straw and looked up into his best friend's piercing blue eyes.  
"Sherlock... I'm so glad..." He stopped to try and clear his throat, "So glad I've finally died." With those words John used up all the strength he had and fell back into a deep and dreamless sleep with a smile on his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to all who read and followed and especially thank you to Prothoe and Mzzmarie who reviewed. If you have second, let me know what you think about Chapter 2. There will be one more part to this story at some point. Thanks again for taking the time to read this.

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This time when John woke he was filled with a contentedness that he hadn't felt in almost two years. It took him several seconds to remember why. 'Heaven,' he thought. He had been shot in the chest, had died and now he was in heaven with Sherlock. He was finally reunited with his best friend. He tried to sit up to look for Sherlock, but the pain of moving was too great. He fell back on the bed with a whimper and that was when the sounds around him finally registered. If he was in heaven why was he in a hospital? Why was he in pain? Why was he hooked up to a heart monitor?  
Despair descended again, 'I'm alive. It must have been a dream.'  
The realization hurt more than he would have thought. He had lived, if you could call it that, for almost two years without him, without Sherlock, but thinking he had him back and being wrong was like watching the fall all over again. He thought he had finally gotten used to the idea that Sherlock Holmes was gone, but now he felt like he had right after the funeral. He couldn't stop the tears leaking from his closed eyes and he didn't try. What was the point of being alive anymore anyway? Perhaps it would have been better if he had just died.

"John."  
There it was, that voice. It haunted him. Why was his mind torturing him? It was almost as if John could feel his heart shredding. He wanted so badly to open his eyes and see his best friend's face but he knew it wouldn't happen. It would just be one more disappointment and he didn't know if he could take it. So, he kept his eyes squeezed tight.

"John."  
This time it sounded closer. He felt the bed move beside him and he could no longer keep himself from opening his eyes to see. Right next to him on the bed was Sherlock, sitting there wearing an expression he'd never seen before and couldn't quite identify. He drank in the sight of his friend's face. Who knew when this vision would disappear and even though it twisted the knife in his heart deeper with every second he wanted to savor each moment he could spend looking at that long missed face.  
"Sherlock. Am I dead after all?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Before the vision of Sherlock could answer, there was a sound at the door. Someone was coming in the room. John looked to see who it was and when he looked back Sherlock was gone.  
'I must be going crazy' John thought, 'I have finally succumbed to madness after all this time.' There was a part of him that would rather be mad and keep these fleeting visions of his best friend, than return to the depression and monotony of everyday life.  
"John, are you alright?"  
Molly Hooper was standing in his doorway, holding a bunch of daisies. She looked nervous but then she always looked nervous.  
"I mean... I know you're not alright. You got shot. It's just you had the funniest look on your face." She paused to see if he would say anything. "I brought these for you. I thought they might cheer up the place." She held the flowers out but John was still staring at her in a daze and she began to get flustered.  
"I'll just leave them here and I'll come back some other time. When you're feeling better," she muttered as she placed the flowers on the small table near the hospital bed. She turned to leave when she heard faintly behind her.  
"I think I'm going crazy."

She had known things weren't going well for him, but she hadn't realized it was this bad. They hadn't talked much since the fall but she made sure to check on him through Mrs Hudson once a month. She just couldn't risk talking to him. His pain was so intense and, Molly knew, so unnecessary. No, not unnecessary, Sherlock's death had kept him alive, but it was preventable. She didn't think she could hold the secret in, in the face of his agony, when she had the key to ending it. But as she looked at him laying in a hospital bed, surrounded by and dependent on so many machines, hollow cheeked, with dark rings under eyes, she knew should have done more. She should have gotten over herself and helped him or at least tried. Guilt weighed heavy on her heart. She was his friend and she had left him to fend for himself. Sherlock would have expected more of her and she definitely expected more of herself. But she wouldn't leave him by himself this time. She could help him now.  
"John, what are your talking about? You're not crazy." She tried to reassure him but her voice sounded overly cheerful, even to her own ears. "You're just not well right now. Things will get better, you'll see."  
As she tried to think of something else to say, something that wasn't a cliche, she realized that he wasn't really listening to her anyway. He was in his mind seeing something only he could see. She noticed his lips were moving and she took several steps closer to the bed. She couldn't quite make it out so she moved even closer, bending over him to hear what he was trying to communicate.  
"He was right here. Right here. He was right here." He just kept whispering it to himself over and over again.

Molly felt goosebumps pop out all over her arms.  
"Who, John?" she asked urgently though she was sure she knew the answer. He would come home for John. He would never let John's injury go unattended or unavenged, not after he had died for him. "Who was right here?" she repeated, wanting to reach out and hold his face, to make him focus on her.  
"Me, Molly. He means me."  
Both heads, one dark, one light, swung to look at Sherlock Holmes standing in the doorway of the room's bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Here is Chapter 3. I hope you enjoy. I am going to stop predicting how many chapters are left because each time I'm wrong. This is not the last one and that is all I know for sure right now. I'll be sure to tell you when it is the final chapter. Please review if you have the time.

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"I wasn't sure who was coming in, so I hid," Sherlock explained. Both people continued to stare at him for a moment but it was Molly who reacted first.  
"Sherlock!" She almost shouted. She blushed bright red and lowered her voice. "What are you doing here? What if someone saw you?" she chided in a loud whisper. She looked to the door to make sure no one was coming in to check on all the commotion.

"Wait, you see him, too?" John asked, his eyes moving back and forth between the two of them. "So I'm not crazy? But he's dead. How can he be here?"

"Of course you're not crazy, John. And I'm not dead. I never was," Sherlock replied in his most irritating 'it's so obvious' voice. But there was something different about it, something a little off. His voice seemed to be, almost imperceptibly, shaking and his eyes never left John's face. He tried to slip his habitually cold mask back on but it wouldn't quite return. He looked open, vulnerable even.

"Of course you're dead. I went to your funeral. I cried for you. I mourned you. I lost my whole life when I lost you. If you're not dead then why did I go through that? Why did you put me through that?" Sherlock winced at the accusation in John's voice and the bitter anger he heard, but before he could defend himself Molly jumped in.

"John, there was a good reason. He did it to protect you. Moriarty would have killed you if Sherlock didn't kill himself." Molly wanted so much for the relationship between the two men to be fixed. Neither was the same man without the other. They needed each other. Without their friendship, neither man had someone who really understood him and loved him in spite of and because who he really was.

She wanted John to understand the sacrifice that Sherlock had made for him. That sacrifice proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sherlock really did have a heart. She would never forget the way he looked that night after she had snuck him out of the hospital and back to her flat. It had been the most human she had ever seen him. "He gave up his life so that you could live," Molly finished softly, begging John with her eyes to understand.

"I don't call what I was doing living. I would have rather died than live through that. But no one asked me what I wanted. You made the decision for me and you made the wrong one. Now I don't think I want to talk to either of you anymore. Please leave." John looked to the door pointedly. Molly could see he really meant it, he really wanted them to leave, but she wasn't sure what she should do. Should she leave as he had asked or stay and try to help him see why it had all been necessary?

"Molly can do as she wishes, but I won't be going anywhere, John. I will be staying right here and there is not really anything you can do about it." Sherlock sounded cold but adamant.

John flinched at the the sound of his name, but instead of answering he just shut his eyes and ignored them both. Molly stood next to the bed wringing her hands. She looked between the men, each obviously ignoring the other, and decided she should leave to let them work it out.  
"Well, I guess I'll go then." Neither man responded or even acknowledged her presence. "I'll come back later to see if either of you needs anything."

John opened his eyes and glared at Molly. It was a look she had never seen on his face. "I don't think you need to do that. I believe I've already stated I don't want to talk to either of you **anymore**. You knew he was alive and you let me suffer. You are just as much to blame as him."

"John! You have every right to be angry with me but don't take it out on Molly. She was merely doing what I asked her to do," Sherlock scolded. "We all know she would do anything I asked of her. She is just the person that helped to carry out a plan that I created. She has no blame for the consequences of it. If you were in you're right mind, you would be very ashamed of speaking to her that way."

John felt a little twinge of remorse but ruthlessly locked it away. He was the wounded party here. They deceived him and let him live in hell while they blissfully continued living their lives. He closed his eyes again, feigning sleep, determined to ignore both of them. He missed the tear filled look Molly gave Sherlock and the way Sherlock reached out to pat her shoulder awkwardly.

"I'll be back later today anyway to check on you both," she whispered shakily to Sherlock. She was quite pleased with the way Sherlock had defended her but she didn't think she deserved it. John was right, she was to blame just as much as Sherlock. It might have been his plan but she had agreed to it. She had kept John in the dark, even after Sherlock had left the country. But no matter how uncomfortable John's anger made her she wasn't going to let it keep her being a good friend to him. She had already abandoned him once, she wouldn't do it again. She smiled slightly to Sherlock and left the room quietly.

Sherlock resumed the seat he had been sitting in for the last day and a half and tried to think of how to repair the situation. He had known John would be angry when he returned but he also knew he would be able to convince John to forgive him. After all he was Sherlock Holmes. He already had 17 ideas.

They sat in silence as Sherlock went through each scenario in his mind, determining the most likely responses from John and slowly discarding the ones that did not achieve the effect he wanted. As he was busy thinking, John's feigned sleep gave way to real sleep where he dreamed of being back in Baker St with his best friend.

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Quick AN - I know it may seem as if John is behaving out of character but I think he would feel betrayed about being kept out if the plan. He is angry and anger causes people to behave in ways they know is not right. He will need time to come to grips with the reemergence of his friend and what it means for him.


	4. Chapter 4

Here is Chapter 4. I hope you enjoy! Please leave a review if you feel so inclined.

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When John awoke again, he did not know how much time had passed. He felt as if he had been wrapped in cotton. The world around him was fuzzy and indistinct and his mind felt as battered and bruised as his body. He had dreamt of the times before the fall and was so elated to be back there again. Then those dreams had turned into nightmares of watching Sherlock fall and being unable to stop it. He felt so conflicted. Yesterday, and for almost two years before that, all he had wanted was to have his old life back, to have Sherlock back but now that he could have that he couldn't let go of his anger.

And to top it all off he was thirsty again.

"Ahh, you're awake. I'm glad, I was beginning to get bored. I would like to tell you of all I did while I was gone." Sherlock's voice startled him. John was so caught up in his thoughts, he had forgotten where he was for a moment. He was still determined to ignore Sherlock but when the water glass appeared before him again, the temptation was too great. He drank from the straw without looking at Sherlock and thought about what he had said. _He wants to tell me what he's been doing while I suffered. Well I don't have to listen to it_, John thought indignantly, thought a part of him was pleased to be able to just lay there and listen to that voice.

Sherlock resumed his seat and began to tell John all that happened after the fall. He had only stayed with Molly for one night. He didn't want to endanger her anymore than he already had by involving her. He then holed up in a horrible little hotel until his wounds from the fall healed. It didn't take long, his plan had worked well and he didn't have many injuries. As he healed he began to plan how he would take down the rest of Moriarty's web.

He contacted Mycroft for help. That had been an uncomfortable conversation. Mycroft knew he was alive, of course, he had helped with all the paperwork and red tape that happens after someone dies. It had made Molly's job much easier to know that Mycroft would keep anyone from examining her "autopsy" of Sherlock Holmes, and the body they had used, too closely. But it was always hard to ask one's pompous older brother for help.

With Mycroft's help, Sherlock began to travel the world stamping out the remains of Moriarty's network. He had come close to death more times than he cared to think about and he had killed more than times than he could ever forget. He was almost done when he had heard of John's injury and rushed home to London to be at his bedside. He hadn't been far away, and so had been able to get to the hospital before John was even out of surgery.

John tried not to be affected by Sherlock's story. He tried to block out the words so that there was no meaning just sound but he couldn't. The more he heard of Sherlock's travels the more he was forced to realize that Sherlock had not had it easy. When he spoke of his brushes with death, John could hear the buried fear and when he spoke of the lives he had taken John could hear that it had changed him. They had more in common now, they had both been to battle and it had changed who they were.

The longer he listened to that baritone swirl around him, the less conflicted he felt. The truth that his best friend was alive, that Sherlock was not dead and his request had been answered, was sinking in. He was still angry, very angry, with his friend for putting him through the worst pain of his life but his relief at having Sherlock back was growing and he thought the relief might soon overtake the anger.

"John, I want you to know that when I heard that you had been shot…" Sherlock paused and raised his head to look at John for the first time since he began talking. "I couldn't think. Me, Sherlock Holmes, **I** couldn't form a single thought. I was so affected by the idea that you were injured, that you might die, that I couldn't think. I stood frozen like any other idiot would have." Sherlock looked chagrined at this confession. "I don't know what I would have done if you had died." Sherlock's face screwed up here with some emotion John couldn't identify.

"And so I find myself in a position that I detest. I must apologize." Now he looked John in the eye and John could see he was sincere. "I'm sorry John. I had no idea what it was like to think you're friend is dead. When Moriarty threatened you, I was scared for you but I knew I could save you. This time, when Mycroft told me you were shot in the chest and I knew I couldn't do anything to save you, the fear was so much greater. I must believe that given my issues with feelings what you felt on the event of my death must have been even greater than what I felt and I can hardly comprehend that. I am so sorry to have put you through that. Please forgive me."

Sherlock's eyes pleaded with John to understand but before he could decide if or how he would respond, there was a noise at the door. Sherlock rushed to hide again and John tried to school his face into a pleasant mask. He couldn't hold it though when he saw who walked in.

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Thanks for reading, please let me know what you thought. If you enjoy my writing I have another story that takes place before this one, right after the fall from Sherlock's point of view. Try it out you might like it. : )

s/8642387/1/Affected


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